The Choices we make
by Shaye Vespertine
Summary: DEATHLY HALLOWS  the most powerful magical artefacts of Wizarding Britain. The fight for wizardkind's very own existence and freedom. What do the soldiers who fall in battle think as they are about to die? Now includes Remus Lupin.R&R!
1. Chapter 1

**A.N:**none of the characters belong to me, the central background plot isn't mine either, this is just an elaboration on personal views of what certain characters felt towards the end of DH. Don't sue. ENJOY.

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**THE CHOICES WE MAKE: Snake's last memory**

The voices in the office rumbled low and indistinct in the small hours of the morning. It was still dark outside, and though there were no lights inside the office itself, the flames in the fireplace on the left side of the office cast uncertain shadows in the dimly lit room. It was best if nothing indicated that the Headmaster was still, in fact, awake and running, especially to all members of staff.

Being a Death Eater and running a school of Hogwarts' size was no small feat, but as of late things had been further complicated by the pinnacle the war was no doubt reaching. Both sides were getting impatient, skittish and all-round exasperating.

He had found the boy by a miraculous coincidence – "_sheer dumb luck"_ – but, despite having done as his master had ordered, he had his own misconceptions about the infallibility of the grand plan. He had never been given cause to believe that the boy had been half as talented or as bright as his bevy of admirers passionately proclaimed in the past years, so it was only natural, he supposed, that he failed to feel any disproportionate sense of faith in the boy's capability to get that sword out of that frozen lake.

After all, he himself doubted that, were _he_ in the boy's position, he would dive into those below-freezing waters to retrieve a stupid sword that had belonged to a wizard who housed the brawniest and most brash students he had ever seen in his teaching career. Logically, it defied reason, for how could he destroy a mere trinket holding a piece of the soul of the most powerful wizard Britain had seen in the past decades, who was still alive, with a … a mere piece of steel?

Selfishly, it was something he as a Slytherin would never dream of doing in his worst nightmares, because there was nothing personal for him to gain that might hold his interest for more than a moment. There were other ways to destroy the locket, after all, and some of them were considerably _trickier_ than swinging a sword at the locket as one might do a sledgehammer, hacking at it – and even more dangerous than losing one's hand. He would probably opt for the trickier methods, both in order to avoid the sheer stupidity of diving into a frozen lake, and to prove to others, as well as reassure himself, that he was very much capable of casting such difficult magic.

But then he'd never been able to comprehend what drove Gryffindors to act as they did, never mind a boy who was so complicated yet strangely predictable, nor why both his masters were so obsessed with him, though of course, for entirely different reasons.

But when confronted, those reasons pretty much amounted to the same thing: power.

He had refused to consider and understand how such an ordinary boy could be expected to be the saviour of them all, and wondered how he could ever stand the slightest chance against the Dark Lord. That is, he hadn't understood until he saw with his own eyes the final missing piece to the grand puzzle.

He'd been able to look at the bigger picture then and felt something sickeningly close to pity for the boy, but only for a moment, before he hardened his heart and set his mind to fulfilling his masters' orders.

_Curse them both_, he'd once growled.

Both shared one thing in common, though he'd never admit this to anyone: the obstinacy of not staying dead and leaving him be. Both senile old men galled him by stringing him about like a puppet in their macabre game from beyond the grave, though one of them had never truly known death because he had shattered his soul into seven pieces, thus effectively getting as close to immortality as anyone had ever had dared.

But he was digressing here.

He followed the old man's orders and planted the sword in that frozen lake, all the while feeling foolish and expectant at the same time, because he'd seen tail nor hide of the boy and his loyal little lackeys since that fateful night when he and Draco had been fleeing for the lives from the castle's grounds, that night, when he thought he was well into perdition and beyond anyone's help, when the little whelp had _dared_ to belittle him and befoul his arduous task.

_**COWARD!**_

Oh, that one had _hurt_ like a sickening blow to the gut. He'd had to make the little brat pay for his insolence – he'd marked him as he had done numerous times to his father in their youth – he knew _nothing_ of the filth he had been subjected to enduring since deciding to serve either of his masters!

He'd secured the spell that would enable to sword to be pulled out only through a sheer act of bravery, and then sent his message doe to draw the boy out of his hidey-hole.

He had to admit that the boy had certainly grown since he'd last seen him. Not just physically, although that had startled him when he first glimpsed him through the trees – how had the boy gotten so tall in such a short amount of time, gained such a look of _adulthood_ about him? – but also in his casting and performing of magic. If it wasn't for the fact that he had seen the boy coming out of what appeared to be thin air, as though he'd Apparated, he wouldn't have believed he'd been hidden somewhere under numbers of protective charms and secrecy sensors as well as see-me-not invisibility spells.

That showed the boy was cunning and clever and knew exactly how to stay in hiding for endless months, biding his time, until he was ready.

Perhaps there was hope yet.

His heart beat erratically as the boy followed the doe trustingly and drew closer to the frozen expanse of water he would soon have to dive into. What if he didn't understand what he was supposed to do? The whelp had never been as intelligent as many had liked to think, he thought sneeringly.

What if the boy didn't even _see_ the sword inside the lake? Perhaps he had hidden it too well, set it in too deep.

And if he decided it was all some fluke and returned to his hiding place?

Snape must do everything in his power to make the boy get that bloody sword without him suspecting who was leading him thus, for then he would leave and all would be lost.

_Focus_, he thought. You will be of no help if you don't concentrate.

All his fears were vanished when the boy drew close to the lake, after his doe had disappeared. He was looking into the murky, frozen waters at his feet, and surely, he was clearly startled to see the sword, but recognised it immediately. So, he _had_ handled that sword before. Dumbledore wouldn't have lied, but it wasn't a matter of believing in Dumbledore's words, more a problem of believing _in_ the boy himself.

He tentatively reached out with his mind to probe the boy's, and was profoundly shocked to meet with a strong barrier that blocked him entrance to the boy's mind.

Occlumency.

Severus sneered half mockingly half admiringly.

So.

He _had_ learnt how to master the art of Occluding one's mind after all.

His fists clenched of their own volition as he backed out and returned within himself, pondering just _who _he was dealing with here. In the space of a few minutes the irritating little chit had managed to shake his perfectly set views of the last Potter heir, went so far as to make him doubt that he had ever truly the known the boy for what he really was. Severus gazed at the boy-become-man a little longer as he started shedding his clothes, stripping to his underwear and leaving the chain around his neck. Something dark stirred within his bowels as he stared at the strong muscles playing on Potter's back as he methodically removed his clothes from his no-longer skinny frame, pale skin gleaming under the moonlight, soft, dark hair swaying gently in the breeze.

A desire like he hadn't felt in a while. Regret, too.

A strong desire to have had the boy under him, in his House, as his student.

Oh, the things he could have taught him! The cunning little Slytherin he could have been, waiting for him to praise him and counsel him, advise him through his studies and introduce him to the higher circles, mentor him and twist him in a way that would make any fool-hardy Gryffindor shrink away from him upon sight! The sheer delight Severus would have felt if Harry Potter had been sorted into Slytherin House! But he had learnt long, long ago that some things were never meant for him to touch, taste, call his. Not for Severus the glory and warmth of admiration and _good_ things. He could only stand and watch as, like James, Harry stood under a light he had never known.

The person standing there, not twenty feet away from his hiding place, could have been anything ranging from Potter senior to Potter junior along with the mutt, the wolf and … _her_. But he wasn't, and Severus couldn't for the life of him understand just _who_ this man, Chosen One, truly was, or what he was capable of, and suspected that he knew very little of the latter. He sneered fiercely, an ugly look on his sallow face, twisted into something akin to hatred. Since when had Severus been so sentimental about things? About a Gryffindor of all people? A vile _Potter_ heir of that scum?

It was a good thing he moved when he did, because, without his realising Potter had dived into the freezing waters and hadn't come back up. And his most fierce and loyal of lackeys, the red-headed youngest of the Weasley clan, was pelting to the lake-side, determination and terror stark in his face.

Hmm. Interesting.

He hadn't seen the boy come out after Potter.

Maybe he was getting old in his own right, Merlin forbid.

He fled into the night before more insidious thoughts about the brat rose in his mind, fully intent on not being seen when the two would make their way back to wherever they were staying.

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How treacherous.

How _fitting_ that he should die like this, forsaken by everyone, betrayed by his master, alone and deaf to all.

The sheer horror of it hit him, and he buckled, broken, sprawled on the dirty old floorboards of the Shrieking Shack.

He hadn't found the boy in time, told him what things were really like, what he must do before long.

He had _failed_.

_Forgive me._

The flow of blood upon his cold hands brought him out of his reverie as the Dark Lord walked out, without a single back glance at his servant, that accursed snake still safely floating inside the magical cage. He felt his body getting sluggish, numb, the life gushing out of his throat, spewing forth into his hands as he tried to staunch the flow, to _hold on just…a … little…longer…_

A soft swish attracted his waning attention, and a pair of long, dark-clad legs appeared into his direct line of vision. A silvery bundle fell to the floor, puddled at the intruder's feet.

_Oh praise be._

_Oh my most merciful lord, my companion of schemes._

_Thank you, for letting him come to me before it's too late._

He was staring into the handsome face of an enemy he hated with a passion, but who didn't look down upon him in equal scorn and hatred, but instead with an understanding that brought tears to his eyes, a pity he would have despised any other time, but in which he now basked as though in warmth after walking in miles of snow. He looked past all those trademark features with a renewed sense of urgency as the man stepped closer to him and knelt at his side.

"Take it."

More blood spewed forth as his mouth worked to speak. The Granger girl pushed a phial into his uncharacteristically shaking hands and he lapped up all the silvery substance, not quite liquid, that trickled from his eyes, and nose and ears, into the little glass bottle. Severus felt the cold finger of Death closing in upon him, sweeping him away from his broken body, and expressed his heart's deepest desire once more, for the last time.

"Look…at…me…"

A pair of stunning green eyes, vivid like gleaming emeralds, looked into his own, and this time tears leaked out of the corner of his sockets, as he gazed, for the last time, into a beloved pair of eyes that had once been as precious to him and treasured by him as the very breaths he took, since the tender age of seven.

His wish had been granted.

The memories were secured into the strong wizard's hands, relaying a message, an instruction as to what he would later this night have to do.

As he drew in a last, shaky, fractured breath, he felt at peace with himself as his eyes stared at the eyes of Lily Evans ensconced in James Potter's face, right underneath Harry Potter's famed scar.

His Oath had been fulfilled.

His work was done.

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**A.N:**This is only the first chapter. I plan to have at least another two in this short series, so look back next week for updates, and let me know what you thought of the way I wrote Severus Snape following the events of Deathly Hallows; this was the very first time I wrote him, but feel that in all the effort has gone sufficiently well. Thanks!


	2. Howling Wolf

**A.N:**none of the characters belong to me, the central background plot isn't mine either, this is just an elaboration on personal views of what certain characters felt towards the end of DH. Don't sue. ENJOY.

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**THE CHOICES WE MAKE: Howling wolf**

_**Did we lose ourselves again?**_

He walked alone in the dark streets in London on a cold, bitter October night, pelted by the icy wind, much too unusual for this time of the year.

His back was hunched, his gait stiff in a way that spoke of a great pain, his movements slow as though with old age, his balls deeply fisted in his robes' pockets.

The full moon was approaching.

That usually meant that his body would refuse to co-operate on even the smallest of tasks, and made any type of movement awkward and painful; it was something he'd been used to suffering for most of his life, so it didn't affect him all that much.

But the wolf had been deeply offended and had risen out of the inner darkness like a wild, savage thing, ready to rip all and sundry apart.

It had tasted challenge and blood and craved it.

The closer it got to the full moon, the harder it became for man to control the wolf, which felt the Goddess' calling on its flesh and rebelled against the human subconscious cage with renewed ferocity.

Becoming furious certainly didn't seem to be helping.

A couple of Muggle kids shuffled around the corner, reeking of cheap beer and cigarette smoke, their garish clothes stained with the substances they'd been taking.

They couldn't have been much younger than … him, yet he couldn't imagine … him…going out on a night dressed like them, much less drinking and smoking like it were the coolest thing to do.

The wolf leered at the smallest one, a pretty little blonde with too much make-up who didn't smell of alcohol as much as the male, but had evidently had more than her fair share of cigarettes. The smell of alcohol, smoke and cheap perfume wafted around her in an unpleasant cloud, but her neck looked very delicate and supple, and sure enough, just under the skin, a vein pulsed strongly with hot, young blood, on a rush from the good time she must have just had …

It became difficult for him not to wander over and chat her up, get her away from the male, then have his way with her, bit into that pale neck, and taste the freshness of her young blood, mark her with the affliction he'd been suffering from the age of seven …

A deep growl made its way past his lips from somewhere deep in his chest, and the young couple stopped short, surprised from the sound, and wary. His eyes flashed gold when the light form a lamppost struck them, and they hurried down the road at a frightened pace, staggering into a club where seedy loud music blared through the exit.

He chuckled darkly as he stared in their wake, half-disappointed half-wistful.

Silly children, he thought, if he had really wanted them, nothing short of a full team of Aurors' Stunning Spells could have stopped him from taking them.

Harry wouldn't have run like that. He would have stood proud, like James, and faced me like a man.

The thought alone brought anew a tide of rage that swept through his mind, and he growled again, seeing red.

Damn him, he seethed.

**_Do we take in what's been said?_**

**_Do we take the time to be_**

**_All the things we said we'd be?_**

He had no right to say those things to him!

How dare he call him coward? How dare he say he that – that …ashamed.

**_And we bury heads in sand_**

Little runt!

Mangy cur!

A disgrace to his parents' memory!

Ooh, he thought, a spike of guilt slashing through him. Maybe not quite so far. But still.

How dare he?!

"_Don't you understand what I've done to my wife and my unborn child? I should never have married her, I've made her an outcast!_

_You don't know how most of the wizarding world sees creatures like me! Even her own family is disgusted by our marriage … and the child – the child –"_

He was sure that some trace of the wolf must have shown on his human face by now, he'd worked himself up into such a rage he'd felt quite deranged, but Harry, Merlin help him – he looked quite angry himself at what he perceived a great injustice to Dora and the baby … he didn't show an ounce of the fear any honest wizard-folk would have displayed by now…seeing an angry werewolf was not a pretty sight, especially when the werewolf in question was usually coolly collected and very mild-tempered.

Hermione was crying by the time he'd vented about the situation he'd got himself and Dora in, not to mention to breed and bring a child into this world with a father like him. But Harry, if anything gave him a look colder than Hogwarts castle in the middle of January.

_**But my future's in my hands.**_

**_It means nothing_**

**_It means nothing._**

"…_I'd be pretty ashamed of him."_

A blast, like the sound of cannon sounded in his ears, already deafened by the roaring sound of blood pumping in his veins. An unnatural rage overtook him as the temperature in the room dropped by several degrees, but he wasn't the only one, because Harry, too, was projecting an aura of rage he hadn't seen the likes of ever since Lily had tried to stop Sirius and James from picking on Severus in their fifth year … a memory Harry had seen in Snape's Pensieve, he…Lily's son…

**_You can find yourself a God_**

**_Believe in which one you want_**

**_Cuz they love you all the same,_**

**_They just go by different names_**

He, too, was on his feet now, body roiling waves of anger Remus was sure to have _never_ been on the receiving end of, not from James' son, the boy he'd taught in his third year to produce the strongest Patronus charm he'd seen in nearly thirteen years, not the baby boy he'd held and played with when his parents were still alive…how quickly people change … that was the last conscious thought he had before the wolf's rage blanked his mind and pushed forward, intent on hurting, ripping apart, savaging flesh, _killing_…

**_When we flyour flag today, are you proud or just ashamed?_**

"_I'd never have believed this – the man who taught me to fight Dementors, a coward."_

That was when Remus felt something inside of himself literally snap, and felt a bare moment's regret, but only fleeting.

**_It means nothing_**

**_It mean nothing_**

**_It means nothing_**

**_It means nothing_**

**_It means nothing_**

The wolf was out.

**_If I haven't got you_**

**_If I haven't got you_**

**_If I haven't got you_**

**_If I haven't got you._**

The next thing he knew was he'd snapped his wand at Harry who, after a loud bang, was lifted into the air and forcefully flew backwards till he hit the kitchen wall behind him. A small part of him had been aghast at what he'd done to Harry, James' son, _his cub_, but the wolf was past caring now, and he was the out the front door before anyone could so much as sneeze, seeing everything in red, like an angered bull, ready to strike at the foolish matador weaving and dancing in front of him, bandying that cloth in his face, enraging him further.

Remus came around a dark street corner and turned left, easily leaping through traffic and weaving through people walking on the pavement, who were undoubtedly club-hopping from one place to the other.

His line of thought was broken and non-continuous, somewhat disconnected, a dark grimace twisting his features so that if one looked closely, the wolf was very much visible underneath the skin, jumping and dancing, eyes snapping brightly under the lights.

He dares, he dares, the son of my best friend, the boy who could have been my own –

And then Remus snapped back to himself, the wolf clenched under layer upon layer of tight, iron-fisted control, finally back where he belonged every day of every month save the one night when the moon was full.

That line of thought, treacherous and painful as anything had been enough to surprise the man inside and that had been enough to reign in his night-brother, the wolf.

Rubbish, he thought. All that talk about cubs and children and small little boys running around your legs, hoisting themselves onto your lap, just to reach your face and try to gnaw enthusiastically on every available surface of your face …

**_And the sun sets in the sky_**

He leaned heavily on the walls of a quiet little pub just opposite one of the designated Apparation Areas scattered around London to aid the wizard or witch who was in a tight schedule and had to avoid the wandering eye of passing, pesky Muggles.

Apparation was the furthest thing from his mind at that moment.

Those memories of a time when his friends were still alive and life was every bit as uncertain as it was now threatened to engulf him, and this time, he let them. Memories of another baby, as precious to him as seldom things had been in his life up to that point…as sacred as his friendships with the lads and Lily…

_A baby boy was tottering around the room in a cosy little cottage in Wales, his walking more enthusiastic and energetic than skilled. He was following and laughing with glee a little sparkly butterfly, summoned by James' wand, as it fluttered close to the floor, whizzed past his little head then darted to his left, towards the squashy armchair. James was steering the butterfly here and there, whilst Lily and Peter were busy chatting in the kitchen just off the dining room, undoubtedly discussing how effective spells could in fact be used to break through magic such as Wizard's Oaths, and Unbreakable Vows. Sirius was crouching near the fireplace, ablaze with a warm fire, and Remus was settled not too far from his side, on his stomach on the thick rug, an eager smile on his face as the toddler came closer and closer in a bid to catch the elusive butterfly. Harry's concentration was deep, his focused and determined look an amazing sight to behold on a baby so young. His walking and running may have been somewhat precarious but there was nothing casual about the way his bright eyes followed the butterfly as it flew around the room, nor in the way his arms slithered in the air, fingers just missing the butterfly._

_James looked at his son, a warm, gentle look of fatherly pride and devotion the likes of which Remus had never seen on anyone else's face. James chuckled as he and Sirius clapped delightedly when Harry came close to catching the butterfly once more. _

_He will undoubtedly make an excellent Quidditch player, probably Chaser…Seeker, if I can push it …_

_The last part he whispered, then quickly swivelled his head around to the door to make sure Lily was still in the kitchen preparing tea. His wife did not appreciate his talk of how Harry would live his student years when it was time for him to go off to Hogwarts … it was almost as though she didn't approve of her son getting up to exploits like he, Remus, Sirius and Peter had done in their days._

_Harry was still completely focused on catching the little butterfly, so much so, that he didn't see where he was headed until it was too late._

_With a startled gasp and an outrageously surprised look on his babyish face, he tripped over Remus' wrist and toppled right into his arms, which were quick to catch him and protectively cradle him against a powerful chest._

_He gently up-righted him and set him on his feet, but made no move to let him go. Harry squirmed to get away and begin his butterfly pursuit again, but the minute Remus blew gently on his little face and their eyes met, Harry was still._

**_You're the apple of my eye,_**

_Remus felt once more a painful tug at his heart as his amber eyes stared deep into pools of green, a pair of eyes filled with the purest love he had ever seen directed at him. He gently tickled the tiny body resting in his big hands, making the boy squirm in delight, a tinkling laugh lilting in his ears._

_Harry launched himself forward and wrapped his little arms around Remus' neck, slobbering over his throat with a childish, rendering display of affection and deep trust – a baby kiss._

"_Munny!"_

_His face broke into the gentlest of smiles, tears threatening to fall from his overemotional eyes as he lovingly bent his head to stare down into the little face below him._

_Puppy, he thought._

_My precious cub. Moony loves you, puppy. Moony loves his Harry-cub very much._

**_If the bomb goes off again_**

**_In my brain or on the train_**

Real tears spilled onto his chilled cheeks, instantly cooled by the icy breeze sweeping the street.

**_Well I hope that I'm with you_**

**_Cuz I wouldn't know what to do_**

My puppy, he thought.

What has happened to us all, Harry? Where is the heroic, loving, trusting little boy I have known for so long, and admired and taught and protected and loved for so long? What did this wretched war do to him?

**_It means nothing_**

**_It means nothing_**

**_It means nothing_**

**_It means nothing_**

**_It means nothing_**

But in his mind, clear as day, came unbidden the image of the man that Harry was becoming.

And what of you, Moony? Where has my brave Moony gone?

**_If I haven't got you_**

**_If I haven't got you_**

**_If I haven't got you_**

**_If I haven't got you_**

Remus staggered as he Apparated to his house, tears still making their way on his tired, pale face. A small part of him felt rebellious and belligerent for the way he'd been treated, and the things _Harry_ of all people had said to him, but most of all, he felt betrayed and hurt at the way Harry had looked at him. Sure they were having a confrontation...a heated argument...a vicious row, but he'd never thought he'd see his Harry look at him with so much anger, so much hate, so much disappointment. A sinking feeling in his stomach made him feel on the verge of tears again, and his hands actually tremebled.

I've hurt him, haven't I?

It was all too much for him, and the next morning he would still be angry, would still feel betrayed, and somewhat guilty in realising that not once had his hurt been projected towards hurting Dora and their child...but Harry was family too. He'd been family to Remus the day he saw him, shrivelled and wailing his head off in the Maternity Ward in St. Mungo's, seventeen years before. Remus saw Harry as the manifestation of a love he hadn't been able to dote on anyone, the link to his lost childhood friends, something good and decent in his life, much deeper and older than the love - for that was what it was - he now shared with Dora.

When he went inside he immediately set out for his bed and collapsed heavily on the quilts, clothes and all, feeling drained and lost.

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**A.N:** there you have it, please let me know what you think, I don't know if this will be Remus' last chapter - I have grown increasingly fond of him during the last few months, and am still in tears when I think that he was killed - because I find I can write him in a way I really like, especially how I think he feels about Harry. REVIEW!! And look back in the next couple of days for more, I'm feeling extremely inspired at the moment, which is auspicious.

A great thanx to SableGloom, my anime fiend, great supporter of this fic - she gave me the hint on the title of the story! Rock on!

Ja ne!


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